


Dirty Blonds

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit from Martha reunites Thomas with an American 'friend'. Jimmy takes a strong disliking to the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Blonds

‘Oh.’

Robert was unable to entirely suppress the fairly loud groan, although to his credit he _did_ manage to bury the expletive that threatened to follow.

‘Darling?’ Said Cora privately, speaking out of the corner of her mouth as she kept a warm smile on her face for the benefit of the ostentatiously attired Americans clambering out of the motor cars in the driveway.

‘The footman.’ Robert whispered back, doing a far poorer job than Cora of keeping his face bright and welcoming as he eyed the young blond man scurrying out of the back of the final car; the sun catching on the two carefully sculpted curls at his left temple.

‘You _knew_ they would be bringing extra staff Robert…’ Said Cora, as sternly as she could muster given the large smile still resolutely on her face as her mother and brother approached to be greeted. ‘…I shouldn’t need to remind you. We _agreed_ additional staff would be needed for the garden party. And _you_ were the one who ordered their rooms to be prepared last week. You _knew_ they would be bringing a footman.’

‘Yes.’ Robert concurred gruffly in the final few moments before Martha drew close enough to hear, his eyes flicking involuntarily in the direction of Thomas who stood in line with the rest of the welcome party. ‘But I had rather hoped it wouldn’t be _that_ one…’

**

Jimmy didn’t like the new (temporary, he gratefully reminded himself) footman from the second he laid eyes on him.

He disapproved of the man’s hairstyle; so cultivated as to suggest a man who spent little to no time actually working. He hated his accent; the warm and youthful voice sounded to Jimmy like someone who had no business with the hard graft of being a footman. And he especially hated the fact that the young man with the silly hairstyle and the enchanting voice had instantly made a beeline for Thomas and left _him_ to deal with the suitcases.

And worst of all, Carson did nothing to stop it.

Jimmy grudgingly reminded himself that Thomas had most likely gotten to know the man in America while at the Levinson household, and in fact even Martha herself greeted Thomas as she arrived, so it was only proper that Carson not interfere with Thomas’s welcoming of the Americans as a representative of the Crawley household (especially given that the rest of the staff seemed to be able to muster little more than mute stares and poorly suppressed giggles).

But Jimmy didn’t like it.

The footman wasn’t pulling his weight, Jimmy thought angrily to himself as he made a point of struggling loudly past Thomas and the mystery footman with a suitcase under each arm, and _that_ just wasn’t fair.

**

A short while later in the servant’s hall, amid the bustle of unloading, Carson took it upon himself to attempt to introduce the new staff to the rest of the household; using for the most part the traditional honorifics based on which specific family member they served.

But when he reached the flighty blond man, the one Jimmy was still scowling disapprovingly at even though he was now putting up an (overly exaggerated, in Jimmy’s opinion) show of helping out, Carson decided that, as footman, just the usual first name would suffice.

‘And finally, this is Bill.’ Said Carson, already making his way over to the door in preparation for attending to more important tasks.

‘Billy!’ The young man piped up immediately, giving the room a smile so bright Jimmy felt the need to shut his eyes against it. ‘I go by Billy.’

Jimmy smirked to himself, preening happily in anticipation of Carson dressing the young man down for even daring to suggest the use of a nickname rather than his _proper_ name.

But instead of the expected scolding, Carson merely looked mildly perturbed and closed the matter with a dismissive nod.

It took a strange sideways look from Alfred for Jimmy to realise his jaw was hanging open in shock.

‘Cor, it’s funny you know…’ Alfred said quietly to him, staring across the table after Billy as he quickly exited the hall en route to check on his employers comfort.

‘Isn’t it just.’ Said Jimmy, happy someone else had noticed Carson’s outrageous concession.

‘…I always thought of you as having blond hair. But next to that Billy chap it looks practically brown. Mind you, I suppose your hair _was_ lighter when you first got here. Wasn’t it?’ Alfred said pensively, turning his gaze to the crown of Jimmy’s head. ‘Maybe it’s turning brown as you’ve gotten older. I just never really noticed before…’

Jimmy’s mouth hung open again in indignation, partly at being compared unfavourably to someone to whom he had taken quite such a vicious dislike to, but mostly at the insinuation that his looks were somehow slipping away with age; to be superseded by the likes of the vacuous ninny (Jimmy took a moment to congratulate his mind on coming up with quite such an apt phrase) who had just swept out into the corridor.

**

Later that evening, thankful to have survived an eventful dinner and drinks service unscathed, Thomas became aware by the prickling of the hairs on his neck that there was someone else in his bedroom as he turned in for the night.

His weariness immediately brightened.

‘You know you really shouldn’t enter a man’s room without his permission…’ Thomas drawled, without bothering to turn around to see the man standing behind him by his wardrobe.

‘Really? Gosh, I’d better be on my way then…’ Said Billy sweetly, stepping lightly across the floorboards towards the door.

‘Oi!’ Thomas grabbed for him, spinning him about to press them both together in a warm hug; a firm kiss following quite naturally as Thomas’s grip across Billy’s back became tighter.

‘Mmmm…’ Billy mumbled, smiling against Thomas’s lips. ‘So I take it you missed me?’

‘Now what on _earth_ …’ Thomas gave a triumphant murmur as he succeeded in grasping Billy’s legs tight enough to hoist him up off the floor, legs either side of his hips. ‘…gave you that impression?’

Billy purred approvingly, dipping his head to obtain another kiss, rendering Thomas momentarily blind as to the progress of his endeavour as he attempted to walk the two of them over to the bed.

Somehow they made it safely. Thomas deposited Billy enthusiastically onto the sheets before descending down upon him, fingers working open Billy’s waistcoat in a matter of seconds to give his hands full range of movement across Billy’s shirt-clad torso, as the sensitivity of his neglected lips found stimulation in the vigorous enthusiasm of the plump lips of the man beneath him.

Thomas pulled back a moment with a wry smile as his thumb, upon slipping between the gaps of two of Billy’s shirt buttons found bare skin rather than the expected undershirt.

‘Are you not wearing…?’ Thomas said softly, purposefully sliding his fingers into Billy’s shirt to play over the skin therein.

‘Not any.’ Billy cut in, biting at his lip, looking up at him, nervous for the eagerly anticipated approval. ‘I keep my promises, Mr Barrow.’

Thomas’s fingers hovered over the buttons of Billy’s shirt for a moment before beginning the task of gently slipping them open, working slowly from the neck down.

‘Well that…’ Thomas swallowed. ‘Can’t have been very comfortable now, can it?’

‘Not one bit.’ Said Billy in mock seriousness. ‘Such dreadful chaffing…’

Thomas snorted before fighting to get his face back under control. ‘I suppose…’ He said slowly and sternly, emulating Billy’s play acting. ‘…we’d best see what can be done…’ He gently pushed aside the fabric of the right side of Billy’s shirt from his chest, continuing until he had exposed his shoulder, lowering his head to kiss softly at Billy’s nipple before opening his lips just enough to languidly suckle on it. ‘…to compensate you.’ He finished at a whisper, immediately turning his mouth back to the task of soothing the flesh aggravated by hours of rubbing against Billy’s shirt-front; brain, and other organs, surging at the thought of the _other_ parts which would no doubt merit the same attention; when the bedroom door decided to, most inopportunely, open.

**

Jimmy wasn’t sure why he had felt compelled to call on Thomas before heading to bed that evening, he certainly didn’t make a habit of asking Thomas if he required any assistance for the next day (in fact, if he was honest, he had _technically_ never done so before), but he didn’t see why it would be a problem. Thomas was his friend after all. And he would be happy to see him. Why shouldn’t he be?

‘Thomas, I was just wondering if you needed anything for…’ Jimmy stopped dead in his tracks.

Of all the things he had expected (hoped?) to be confronted with upon entering Thomas’s bedroom unannounced, the sight of the irritating footman lying legs akimbo with his shirt open with Thomas laid over him sucking at his nipple like a hungry calf, was _not_ one of them.

‘Oh my God!’ Jimmy exclaimed, face screwed up in a blend of intense disgust and discomfort.

‘Jesus!’ Billy went to jump up, grabbing to pull his shirt closed around him. ‘It’s not what it…’

‘Shhhh!’ Thomas hissed, directing Billy to relax back down with a firm push to the chest.

‘Wh…what’s…?’ Jimmy stuttered, compelled to stare, not so much at the partially naked man, but more in intrigue at the supplicant yet dominant position of the man lying over him.

‘Exactly what it bloody looks like Jimmy.’ Said Thomas flatly.

‘Right…’ Said Jimmy dumbly, still standing by the door, hand still on the knob; transfixed by the offensive sight.

‘Jimmy!’ Said Thomas sharply, snapping him out of his reverie.

‘Yes?’ Said Jimmy tentatively.

‘ _Leave_ , Jimmy.’

Jimmy blinked. ‘Right, yes, of course.’ He muttered to himself, face still blanched in shock as he quickly exited and pulled the door closed behind him.

Thomas watched the door darkly until it was fully closed before turning his attention back to the man beneath him, lowering his head for a kiss.

‘Are you not…’ Billy squirmed his face away. ‘Are you not worried?’ He exclaimed. ‘Suppose he goes and tells someone!’ He said frantically.

‘He won’t.’ Thomas said firmly, moving in again.

The expression on Billy’s face abruptly changed from terror to suspicion. ‘And what makes you so sure?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake…’ Thomas muttered, to himself rather than Billy. ‘Nothing like that, alright? He’s just a friend, a friend who _knows_ , and he won’t tell anybody.’

Billy scowled at him in a manner disturbingly reminiscent of the man he had just ejected from his room.

‘He called you _Thomas_.’ Billy persisted. ‘ _I_ didn’t even know that was your name.’

‘Everyone here calls me Thomas in private.’ Thomas lied through his teeth, stroking a hand down the barely-there hair of Billy’s stomach in an effort to distract him from the particularly unwelcome topic.

‘Do _I_ get to call you Thomas too?’ Said Billy, petulantly putting at him, his expression softening a little.

‘Of course.’ Said Thomas easily, concealing his irritation at this particular development.

Billy smiled triumphantly, raising his hips a little to indicate his wish for Thomas to lower his hand further.

Mentally cursing Jimmy, and dearly hoping his budding erection would reinvigorate itself in the near future, Thomas happily obliged.

Finding himself suddenly disinclined to tease, or in all honesty to be any more attentive than necessary in order to get Billy undressed and turned about onto his hands and knees, Thomas endeavoured to loose himself in the fleeting simplicity of ploughing repeatedly into the man below; in turn both avoiding and staring at the sight of the toned back and blond hair of his bedfellow.

Outside in the corridor, Jimmy lingered for some time in open mouthed shock and disbelief until the sound of lightly creaking bedsprings (imperceptible to anyone _without_ their ear pressed up against the door) confirmed that the encounter between Thomas and Billy was, indeed, _exactly_ what it had looked like.

**

It rained that night. Hard. And the next morning found a highly dubious Carson and a grudging Robert, under the determined eye of Cora, surveying the partially waterlogged Abbey grounds to see if continuing with the planned garden party was a viable option.

The unwelcome, albeit not surprising (given the amount of preparation and effort) conclusion was that the event must go on as planned.

Within half an hour of the floodgates (a pun the staff bandied about as they picked their way multiple times across the makeshift path of sheets across the lawn to stock the tents with the required drinks and food) opening as the visitors were admitted, the grass was almost completely transformed into a rutted mire.

It had the effect of making the visitors much more inclined to strike up conversations with strangers, eager for an excuse to remain in particular tents rather than venturing out across the mud, which was counted as something of a dubious bonus by the Crawley family in their efforts to promote social interaction and cordial relationships amongst their guests; although it was noted that certain attendees (namely the equally formidable matriarchs, Violet and Martha) had a way of driving people from their sphere even with the looming threat of ruined shoes.

The wooden boards put down as makeshift paving slabs were soon rendered treacherously slippery, so the staff quickly resorted to taking their chances on what was left of the grass; reasoning that it was more than their shoe-leather was worth to trip with a tray of fine crystal in hand.

The prospect of a night at the shoe polish, not to mention brushing off caked mud from the hems of his trousers, would have had Jimmy in a foul enough mood as it was. But the constant glances and sneaky sickly smiles from Billy as their paths repeatedly crossed throughout the day had Jimmy’s mood teetering dangerously close to the brink of eruption.

He _knew_ Billy was doing it on purpose. Though as to why Billy thought that he, Jimmy, gave two figs about the fact he was bedding Thomas was a mystery to Jimmy. And he didn’t care.

‘Gosh, I’m every so tired today.’ Said Billy, making Jimmy jump as he unexpectedly appeared beside him in the beer tent.

‘How unfortunate for you.’ Jimmy responded blithely, shoving the tray he had just finished loading up into Billy’s hands in an effort to get him to move along more speedily.

Jimmy turned away to begin filling the glasses for the next tray, realising very soon that Billy had not in fact moved on, and was still stood smugly watching him.

‘What?’ Said Jimmy gruffly, turning about to face him again.

Billy waited until the nearby maid had left the tent before responding. ‘I just…’ He said sweetly, speaking as though to a toddler. ‘…want to be sure that we haven’t upset you. That’s all.’

Jimmy instantly bristled at Billy’s lumping together of Thomas and himself under the word ‘we’ before mentally asserting to himself that Billy’s noxious attitude was the problem, _that_ was what was causing quite such a strong reaction in his gut; nothing to do with Thomas.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Jimmy managed to eventually reply through gritted teeth.

‘Oh yes you do…’ A little of the pretend concern slipped away, to be replaced by something darkly mischievous that had Jimmy fantasising tipping one of the beers over Billy’s perfectly styled hair. ‘And let’s just say it’s a good thing you didn’t walk in a few minutes later, eh?’ Said Billy breezily, winking at him. ‘I just wanted you to know that Thomas and I appreciate your discretion…’

‘It’s Mr Barrow.’ Said Jimmy bluntly.

Billy smiled at him. ‘Not to me.’ He said merrily, brushing past Jimmy as he began to make his way over to the opening in the tent wall. ‘He said so last night.’

Billy looked back, perturbed, as his thinly veiled dig met with a raucous laugh from Jimmy.

‘Oh, nothing…nothing…’ Jimmy wheezed amid exaggerated guffaws. ‘…It’s just…I take it you and him have done the business before…and yet it’s only _last night_ that he gives you permission to call him by his first name…’

‘How many times did it take before he gave _you_ permission to use his first name?’ Said Billy slyly.

Jimmy’s laughter died as abruptly as it had arrived.

‘Now you look here…’ Said Jimmy darkly. ‘…I don’t know _what_ you’re implying…’

‘I’m implying that at some point Thomas has lowered himself to slumming it with your good self.’ Said Billy, smiling sweetly.

Jimmy wasn’t sure which part of that sentence outraged him the most, but in the end the need to address the issue of his manliness rather than his general desirability won out.

‘I have never ‘slummed it’ with Mr Barrow.’ Said Jimmy sharply.

Billy regarded Jimmy’s indignant expression carefully. ‘Oh I see…you’re one of those…’ Billy gave a creeping and measured laugh. ‘But you _wish_ you had.’ He whispered cruelly before spinning about, tray in hand, to stride out into the open field.

Jimmy was after him in a flash, walking as fast to catch up to him as the uneven sodden ground would allow.

‘I won’t have you implying things about my character that are damning and untrue!’ He called.

‘Oh I see how it is.’ Billy called back. ‘You went pathetically panting after him with your tongue hanging out and when he finally took pity you lost your nerve…’

Jimmy grabbed for Billy’s arm, the tray (which went crashing to the floor) and the spectators (peering out their tent flaps at the kerfuffle) utterly forgotten as he yanked sharply to force Billy back around to face him. ‘You don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about.’ He hissed.

‘I know that I was with him last night.’ Billy bit back with equal venom. ‘And you wish you were.’

‘And what do you care about my wishes? Hmmm?’ Jimmy retorted, whispering harshly into his ear. ‘If you’re so sure he’s yours why rub it in?’

‘You can’t seriously be insinuating that Thomas still feels _anything_ for you? If he ever did in the first place.’ Said Billy, wrinkling his nose up in disdain as he cast his eyes over Jimmy’s appearance. ‘Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever _seen_ someone as sour and disagreeable as you. I grant you have a little of the looker left about you, but you _really_ ought to have capitalised on that when you had the chance…’

‘He’s kind to me.’ Jimmy said. ‘For _years_ he’s been kind to me and expected nothing in return. How long do you think he’d be kind to _you_ if you closed up shop?’ Jimmy said, the last part coming out a little dazed as his mind wandering to a strange and unfamiliar place at the penultimate sentence, which had risen quite unbidden into his thoughts.

‘Well at least _I’d_ know what I’m missing.’

Jimmy’s fist connected imperfectly with the side of Billy’s head, toppling them both off balance and onto the ground.

The two hall boys who had made it half-way across the lawn to assist with the dropped glasses halted in their tracks, Mr Carson fell back against the bandstand for support while Alfred nearly dropped his own tray in surprise. An audible gasp went up from those who had poked their heads out of the tents earlier at the sound of the clattering glasses, drawing others from inside to join them in watching the spectacle, as Jimmy and Billy fought to extract themselves from the sticky ground.

Struggling into an upright kneeling positions, distracted by disgust at the wetness at his knees and the mud between his fingers, Jimmy was caught quite off guard by a hard push from Billy.

By virtue of throwing his entire body weight behind it, Billy’s push succeeded in laying Jimmy out on his side, caking his clothes, hair and face in the gritty muck.

But it also rendered Billy sufficiently off balance for Jimmy to roll him over, pinning him bodily down in the mud. His thighs immobilising Billy’s arms, Jimmy took the opportunity to gather up a generous scraping of slime to dump directly onto Billy; smearing it over his cheeks and down under his shirt collar.

Howling, and getting a fair amount of mud in his mouth for his troubles, Billy bucked his hips up, dislodging Jimmy. He turned, sloppily pummelling his wet fists into Jimmy’s stomach and chest.

The two of them struggled up to their knees again, grappling, only to fall back down again with a squelch into the mire.

Inside the main tent, the majority of the Crawleys had disregarded the initial commotion, but as the noise (and accompanying chatter from the growing number of spectators) increased they were roused to attention.

‘What on earth is all that ruckus?’ Said Robert with a frown, passing his tea cup to Thomas as he got to his feet.

Thomas followed him out, his jaw dropping at the sight of the two distant figures struggling against one another in the mud.

‘Oh good God…’ Muttered Robert, rolling his eyes heavenwards as he recognised the two before turning to look pointedly at Thomas.

‘My Lord?’ Said Thomas in confusion before a particularly loud curse word echoed in a very familiar voice echoed across the lawn. Thomas’s eyes grew wide.

He quickly picked his way across to where a horror-struck Alfred was standing.

‘Alfred!’ He called. ‘Is that…?’

‘Jimmy?’ Said Alfred, sounding every bit as bewildered as he was. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh _hell_.’

The two of them, followed closely by Mr Carson who had somehow managed to get over his shock at the indignity of the display, began to move as swiftly across the sodden ground as they dared.

‘What do we do?’ Said Alfred as they all came to a stop, still a good distance from the flying flecks of mud.

‘Well _I’m_ not touching them.’ Said Thomas, blinking at the sight as he smoothed down his pristine jacket.

Despite their hesitation, both of them were very nearly roused into action by the sickening sound of screams and hair being ripped from the scalp as Jimmy’s fist came away from Billy’s head with a bundle of gold clutched within.

‘ _Stop that this instant_!’

Alfred and Thomas nearly jumped out of their skin as Carson’s booming voice sounded at a volume never heard before or since.

Mercifully, both Billy and Jimmy were similarly startled into inaction.

‘Right…’ Said Carson gruffly as the two filthy footmen lay on their sides, glaring at one another, catching their breath. ‘Alfred you will escort these two back into the house. Mr Barrow you will remain here and help me to tend to our guests. And you two…’ He harshly ordered. ‘…you will clean yourselves up and decide how best you intend to explain your actions.’

Carson turned away immediately, missing both Billy and Jimmy’s eye lines rise to where Thomas was standing.

Thomas lingered for a moment longer, staring at Jimmy with a largely unreadable expression that nevertheless carried distinct undertones of white-hot anger, before turning about to follow Carson.

‘Well you…um…’ Said Alfred awkwardly to his charges. ‘…you heard Mr Carson. So let’s get going.’

**

Battered, bruised, and disgruntled, Jimmy eased himself slowly into the bath tub. The water turned murky the second his body touched it, despite the worst of the mud coming off with the clothes that he had strewn angrily on the washroom floor, but he savoured the warmth nonetheless; giving thanks that Alfred had been the one to escort him back, suspecting that anyone else given the job would most likely have happily left him to languish in a freezing cold tub.

He lent back, arms stretched out round the rim of the bath, and closed his eyes, trying to push the events of the day from his mind if only for a moment.

He didn’t open them when he heard the door of the washroom click open, anticipating Alfred’s return with more hot water.

The sound of angry stomping footsteps alerted him to the fact that the interloper wasn’t Alfred.

Gingerly opening his eyes, praying not to be confronted with Mr Carson in his present state, he was instead confronted with the even more unwelcome sight of Thomas.

‘Jesus!’ He exclaimed, dropping his hands down under the water between his legs. ‘Thomas, I’m in the damn tub!’

‘I don’t care.’ Thomas hissed at him, advancing a few steps closer before stopping. ‘So, _you_ started the fight.’

‘I did not…’ Jimmy began to protest.

‘That wasn’t a question Jimmy.’ Said Thomas, balling his hands into fists at his sides in an effort to keep the involuntary shaking of his shoulders at bay. ‘ _You_ started the fight.’

Jimmy sat up a little in the bath, hunching over. ‘Well I…’

‘Why?’

‘I just…’Jimmy swallowed, fumbling for the words. ‘He was…’

‘He was _what_ , Jimmy?’

‘He was goading me. Being all smug.’ Said Jimmy, bringing his knees up to his chest. ‘About you…’ He added at a whisper.

‘About me.’ Thomas repeated, shaking his head with a bitter smile. ‘And why _precisely_ did that upset you so?’

‘I…’ Jimmy gave a small shrug of his shoulders, dropping his head down onto his chest. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well _I_ do.’ Said Thomas viciously. ‘You want _all_ the attention for yourself. You’ve gotten all used to me being there for you whenever you need me. And to hell with what I need.’

Jimmy shrank further into himself.

‘I didn’t like that…that you might like him better than me.’ He said in a small voice, as close to an admission of what he still couldn’t admit to himself as he could vocalise.

‘Jesus…’ Thomas muttered. ‘You have made it abundantly clear, Jimmy, that I can’t have you. Not in the way we both know I want. And you _know_ what that does to me.’ He shook his head again, briefly giving way to the shivering in his shoulders. ‘And now I _finally_ manage to find a little fun for myself, and pretty hollow fun at that, and you won’t let me have it?’ He demanded. ‘What gives you the right?’

Jimmy’s forehead wrinkled miserably as he buried his face into his knees.

‘I’m sorry.’ He said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Thomas gave a loud grunt of exasperated disdain.

He left the washroom as swiftly as he had come; slamming the door behind him.

Curled up in the murky water, Jimmy’s face crumpled entirely as he began to cry.

**

Some very deep breaths and several laps pacing the corridor were necessary before Thomas had calmed down sufficiently to knock at Billy’s door.

Thomas knocked gently before pushing open the door.

‘Can I come in?’

From his position over by the bureau, leaning to watch the progress of his hand in the mirror as he dabbed antiseptic lotion on the raw spot on his scalp, Billy nodded. He was free of mud, loosely clad in a grey dressing gown, the skin visible at his lower arms and legs rubbed pink by the exertion of removing the grime.

Billy nodded to the mirror, looking forlornly at his reflection.

‘Here, let me.’ Said Thomas, walking over to stand behind him, holding his hand out for the antiseptic soaked cotton swab.

Billy smiled weakly and handed it to him.

One hand loosely holding Billy’s head in place, Thomas resumed the task of tending to the inflamed skin; speckled with tiny dots of blood.

Billy hissed in pain.

‘Sorry.’ Said Thomas softly, slowing the movements of his hand to lessen the shock.

‘It’s alright.’ Said Billy, meeting his eyes in the mirror. ‘More than alright with you here.’ He added, leaning back a little to press his back against Thomas’s front.

‘No. None of that.’ Said Thomas, biting his lip as he took a step back. ‘I’m sorry but…none of that.’

‘What?’ Billy exclaimed, meekness evaporating in a moment.

‘There won’t be any more of that.’ Thomas said sadly to his shoes. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘But…why?’ Said Billy, turning about to face him with impossibly wide eyes. ‘Not because of _him_? The pathetic, stupid, little…’

‘Careful.’ Thomas interjected, his voice low but sharp enough to cow Billy away from the insults queuing to fly from his mouth.

‘But you’re not _with_ him. Are you?’ Said Billy slowly, frowning.

‘I’m not.’ Said Thomas softly. ‘Nor am I likely to be.’ He added gingerly. ‘But…’ He looked up with an apologetic grimace. ‘…but there’s a fine mess here at Downton. And I was wrong to bring someone else into it.’

‘I don’t care about the mess.’ Said Billy, stepping forwards, earnestly searching Thomas’s eyes with his own. ‘There’s no reason to stop. Not really. Is there?’

‘Billy, I’m sorry. But there it is.’

‘But…what about me?’ Said Billy in a small voice.

Thomas shook his head slowly, letting his silence be the answer.

‘We had fun didn’t we?’ Said Thomas guiltily by way of segue, unable to quite look Billy in the eye.

‘Fun.’ Said Billy defeatedly.

‘I’m sorry.’ Thomas sighed, shaking his head again, this time at himself; berating himself for allowing his detached coldness and desperate loneliness to interfere to such a degree in the feelings and lives of others.  

‘Fun.’ Billy repeated at a whisper, closing his eyes against the world.

**

As it turned out, in professional terms the fallout from the instantly infamous mud wrestling was far less severe than anyone anticipated.

This was partly due to Robert’s evident desire to avoid publicly probing into the _actual_ cause of the fight in any way shape or form, but largely due to the fact that Martha insisted on being present during the meeting with the two errant footmen; because, as she pleasantly asserted, Billy was technically _her_ footman. Thus any applicable disciplining would also have to go through her.

Much to Robert’s irritation, Martha proceeded to use her authority to applaud the two footmen (who stood as far apart from one another as possible in the library as they waited to hear their fate) for livening up the ‘painfully dull business’ of the garden party and then stated categorically that Billy would be kept in her employ upon their return to America with only minimal reproach.

In the wake of such benevolence, and to avoid the impropriety of contravening the expressed wishes of an honoured guest (or at least, his mother in law), Robert was compelled to re-evaluate his plans for Jimmy and instead deal leniently with him.

Jimmy’s happiness at being informed he still had a job was momentarily shaken when Robert requested he stay on in the library after the others had departed.

For a while Robert kept him waiting, pacing the floor in front of him while Jimmy stood to attention, evidently undecided as to how to proceed.

‘James…’ He eventually said. ‘…whatever the situation _is_ , I only ask that you sort it out.’

Something about the way Robert was looking at him had Jimmy very uncomfortable, so it was a momentous relief when Robert followed the odd speech with an order for Jimmy to return to his room for the rest of the day before resuming his usual tasks on the morrow.

**

Clambering up the stairs to the attic, his bruised and tender muscles aching all the way, Jimmy laughed to himself about the mildness of the punishment. He had always wondered why his parents, God rest their souls, had set so much store by sending him to his room; his room was where he was alone, and sometimes he liked it that way. Although, Jimmy mused to himself as he entered the men’s corridor, he hadn’t stood to lose any _pay_ while being sent to his room at his parent’s house.

He paused outside the door to his room, finding himself strangely disinclined to loneliness that particular evening.

An annoying voice in his head bluntly enquired as to precisely why that should be.

Wearily, Jimmy conceded to himself that there was something he really _really_ needed to speak to Thomas about.

When that same treacherous inner voice reminded him that Thomas was unlikely to want to listen to him, Jimmy retorted by striding purposefully down the corridor towards Thomas’s room; silencing his inner nay sayer with the vigour of his sudden plan to wait in Thomas’s room until he returned for the night; to _make_ him listen.

Jimmy’s breath caught in his throat at the point when Thomas’s bedroom door shut behind him, realising he was committing the most grievous sin one staff member could commit against another; namely, to violate their one place of privacy without consent. But Jimmy remained firm in his resolve. Taking a few tentative steps into the room, Jimmy surveyed his surroundings, deciding where best to position himself to wait for Thomas.

There were really only two options; the desk chair, or the bed.

Jimmy chose the chair.

He set himself down on it, rubbing nervously at his knees, before deciding to re-angle it to face the door.

Then he decided that would be a little too confrontational, too clinical, and shunted the chair back to it’s prior position; planning to turn about to look at Thomas as he entered the room.

His blazer crumpled uncomfortably as he sat there, fidgeting, and he soon took the decision to take it off. He reasoned that it would be best to emphasise an informal atmosphere. He unbuttoned and discarded his waist coat over the back of the chair for the same cause.

Undoing the top buttons of his over shirt and pulling out the tails from his trouser waistband, as much for comfort as informality, Jimmy caught sight of himself in the small mirror on Thomas’s bureau. He looked a state.

Jimmy laughed to himself at the notion of Thomas being more scandalised at Jimmy’s disregard for the rules of uniform rather than at finding him standing unexpectedly in his bedroom.

Sitting down on the chair again, a little too abruptly, Jimmy winced at the discomfort the unforgivingly hard surface gave to his battle worn body.

He eyed Thomas’s pristinely made bed.

Then he looked over at the clock; there were still potentially a few hours to go before he could expect Thomas to return if the dinner drinks service went as late as the previous night.

He supposed he could pop back to his own room for the time being, but stubbornness and anticipation (and a fear of losing the excitable adrenaline which had built up since he entered Thomas’s room) let him to discard that particular option.

It wouldn’t hurt, he reasoned, for him to sit on Thomas’s bed.

Bending down gingerly to remove his shoes, deciding the socks may as well go too, Jimmy slid them under the desk and tiptoed over to the bed.

Once his backside connected with the mattress the prospect of comfort was too strong to enable him to be content with simply sitting with his legs dangling over the side. Jimmy swung his legs up onto the bed and propped his head on the pillow, hands crossed loosely over his belly.

As his thumb absently rubbed at the buttons at the front of his shirt, Jimmy thought back to the act he had seen in progress on that very bed a short while before.

His first thought was a sincere hope that Thomas had changed the sheets.

His second, as he ran his hand up to the neck of his undershirt, visible over the shirt buttons he had undone, thinking back to the irritating creature that was Billy, was whether or not it would serve him better to remove _his_ undershirt.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Jimmy demanded aloud of himself.

But it was no use.

The idea was well and truly rooted in his head, and it would not be turned.

The events of the day had rendered him quite hysterical within the confines of his own head, rendering some form of resolution essential for the sake of sanity.

‘Thomas…’ Jimmy whispered to himself, partly in surprise, partly in confirmation; a lick of icy fear at everything he represented briefly ghosting it’s way up his spine before he endeavoured to distract himself with less weighty thoughts.

Like how surprised Thomas would be at walking in to find Jimmy in his room.

His cheeks grew hot at the idea of Thomas finding him on the bed (were Thomas to arrive back too abruptly to give Jimmy time to jump back over to the chair), dishevelled as he was. Somewhere along the way the idea of moving back to the chair in preparation for Thomas’s arrival a few hours later flew the coup.

He grinned to himself at the imagined image of Thomas’s face as he walked in to find him bare footed with his shirt untucked on his bed.

He wondered how the image might change were Thomas to walk in upon him wearing less.  

‘Bloody hell.’ Jimmy muttered, surprised at himself, wondering just how hard Billy had hit him about the head earlier.

But the longer he thought about it, the more sensible the notion sounded.

What better way to avoid having to find the words to explain? (Words that Jimmy couldn’t quite give his mind free reign to bandy about even under the present circumstances.) Why not just _show_ Thomas his purpose? _Show_ him that he was interested in more?

 _Was_ he interested in more? He frowned, sitting up in confusion, unsure at what point a desire to avoid being alone that particular evening, and to make up with Thomas after their row earlier, had somehow translated itself into serious musing on the idea of blatantly prepositioning the man for sex; the full implications of such sex, at least on his part, only half-formed at best in Jimmy’s addled mind.

Deciding that the situation called for drastic action (as much to keep his nerves from failing him as for Thomas’s benefit) Jimmy quickly slid off the bed and worked to discard the rest of his clothing; a frenzied sort of mania guiding his hands as his breaths increased for every item shed.

The job done, Jimmy crawled back onto the bed, his heart pounding.

A light chill in the room had him sliding under the covers, glancing at the clock to check how much longer he could expect to wait before Thomas returned.

**

The next thing Jimmy knew, it was morning. _Early_ morning, by the angle of the light that momentarily blinded him as he opened his eyes, but morning nonetheless. Moaning softly he raised a hand to rub the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

He suddenly registered, with a feeling of intense disorientation, that there was a wardrobe at the foot of the bed instead of the usual blank wall. Shortly afterwards he became aware that he was naked, twisted half in half out of the bed sheets with the blankets bunched at his feet.

Turning to his side he saw a photograph of an unfamiliar dark haired man, woman and _slightly_ familiar child.

Turning to the other side, with a feeling of impending doom, he was confronted with the sight of Thomas, still clad in his livery, sleeping in the hard chair, his head pillowed on his arms on the desk.

Jimmy’s clothes were neatly piled up on the bureau next to him.

Jimmy inhaled sharply, mortified to a level he had never previously thought possible.

He wondered what his chances were of being able to grab his clothes and make it out of the room before Thomas woke up.

But the thought of leaving without speaking to Thomas seemed that morning, as it had done the night before, quite an impossibility. He _needed_ to talk to him.

With a fortifying sniff, Jimmy gathered up the bed sheet as best he could around his middle and crept slowly across the floor to Thomas.

‘Thomas.’ He whispered, extending a shaking hand to nudge at Thomas’s shoulder.

Thomas stirred, but only to groggily bury his forehead deeper into his folded arms.

‘Thomas.’ Jimmy said, a little louder, crouching down on the floor in front of him in an effort to peer at his face from below the level of the desk, to see if his eyes were open.

He gave Thomas’s knee a sharp prod when it became apparent he was still, genuinely, asleep.

‘What the…?’ Thomas muttered, raising his head up, eyes screwed tight shut against the light, almost catching Jimmy with the back of his hand as he levered himself back into an upright sitting position. ‘Jeeeeeesus.’ He moaned, bringing both hands up behind his neck in an attempt to stretch out his protesting spine.

‘Morning Thomas.’ Said Jimmy weakly, because he couldn’t really think of anything else to say, clambering back up to his feet.

‘Jimmy?’ Said Thomas, first sleepy and confused.

‘Hello.’ Said Jimmy quietly, his fingers involuntarily tightening on the bunched up fabric he clutched to his waist.

Thomas blinked, taking a moment to let his memory return to him through the lingering haze of sleep before speaking.

‘What are you doing Jimmy?’ He said, his voice unusually hoarse, leaning an elbow on the desk to prop up his tired head.

‘I was…’ Jimmy began softly. ‘…waiting for you.’

Thomas raised an unamused eyebrow.

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Jimmy offered, giving a small laugh.

Thomas gave a deep sigh of annoyance, fishing out a handkerchief from his pocket with his spare hand to wipe at his face.

‘Why were you waiting for me?’ He said at length.

‘I thought…’ Jimmy said, suddenly wishing he had thought to wrap the sheet around his chest as well as his lower half as he felt his nipples harden annoyingly noticeably in the coolness of the room, exacerbating the feeling of being exposed. ‘I wanted…’ He tried again, still unable to come up with the words. ‘I didn’t like that you were angry with me.’ He said quietly. ‘And I wanted to talk to you.’

‘And how does this fit in?’ Thomas said dully, indicating Jimmy’s exposed torso.

‘I thought it might make you happy.’ Said Jimmy with a small shrug.

Thomas sighed deeply, momentarily burying his head in his hands in exasperation.

‘Just like that, eh?’ Said Thomas, shaking with a slightly manic laughter. ‘After everything, you’re going to offer it. Just like that?’ He shook his head, dabbing away tears of laughter from his eyes. ‘I say again, Jimmy; What are you doing?’

‘I’m just…’ Jimmy stuttered, giving another shrug, holding the sheet tight against his stomach like a shield.

Thomas darted forwards, grasping at the side of the sheet. With one smooth motion he had it tugged away.

‘Hey!’ Jimmy made a move to grab for it, but Thomas was too quick for him. ‘What do you think you’re…?’ Jimmy began to angrily protest, hands hovering awkwardly about in front of himself; unsure whether to cover or bare.

‘ _What_ are you doing here?’ Thomas demanded, his eyes fixed unflinchingly on Jimmy’s face as he discarded the white sheet behind him, ignoring Jimmy’s protests.

‘I…’ Jimmy said, the sound of his harried breathing painfully loud in the silent room. ‘…I was…’ He lowered his head to his chest and his hands to his sides. ‘I was jealous.’

‘Go on.’ Said Thomas sharply.

‘I was jealous of Billy.’ Jimmy clarified, somewhat redundantly. ‘At first…’ He continued in an unsteady voice. ‘…I told myself it was just that I was worried you would be spending all your time with him, while he’s here. That I wouldn’t have you to talk to.’ He sniffed. ‘But then…the more I thought about it…’ A series of potent mental images, each featuring Thomas’s breathless lips in different locations on his body, briefly rendered him mute. ‘…I realise I was jealous of…more.’ He concluded lamely.

Thomas raised his fingers to rub at his lips for a moment, Jimmy couldn’t help but notice they were shaking, before speaking.

‘What, _exactly_ , is it you are trying to tell me Jimmy?’ He said, his voice coming out as gravelly as that of one who has had a boot crushing at their neck for several minutes before speaking.

Jimmy fought the urge to cross his arms defensively over his bare chest; sensing that this was precisely the wrong moment to put up barriers of any kind. But still he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.

‘Well you’ve always been so kind to me.’ He said, his voice coming out a little too bright and a little too dismissive. ‘So I thought it’s high time I was kind to you.’

One look at Thomas’s face told him Thomas was having none of it.

Jimmy took a very deep breath, and then another, before trying again.

‘I want you to want me…’ He said quietly.

With a humph of anger, Thomas pushed himself abruptly to his feet. Turning away from Jimmy he made haste for the door.

‘…like I want you.’ Jimmy blurted out desperately. ‘ _I_ want you.’

Thomas stopped, the tension going out of his shoulders, leaning out a hand to prop himself up against the wall for a moment for support before turning back.

Jimmy didn’t think he had ever seen someone look so on the verge of tears before.

‘I want to believe you.’ Said Thomas softly. ‘And I think I do.’

Jimmy let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, a happy brightness appearing behind his eyes.

‘But, if we do… _do_ anything…’ Thomas continued. ‘How do I know…’ He said slowly, sadly. ‘…how can I be sure…that you won’t suddenly decide that you’ve made a mistake? Or worse, that you didn’t want it at all? I care about you, so much. It would mean so much to me to have you.’ He sighed, biting at his lip, several tears managing to escape from his ominously watery eyes even as his expression remained stoically solemn, albeit mournful. ‘But I couldn’t stand to have that taken away from me Jimmy, I couldn’t. I couldn’t have you, and then have you taken away. And I don’t trust that you wouldn’t just change your mind. I don’t trust that you wouldn’t go running to Mr Carson to finish me off…’

‘Trust me.’ Jimmy cut in, desperate to halt Thomas’s distress as much as his words.

Thomas shook his head, remaining where he was, by the wall, looking bleakly down at the floor boards.

‘Thomas please.’ Said Jimmy, walking over to him. ‘Thomas…’ He said, casting his eyes about Thomas’s bedroom before glancing down at his own nakedness. ‘…I want to convince you. More than anything. Believe me, I _am_ sure. But I don’t see what more I could do to…’

The answer that suddenly popped into Jimmy’s mind was so simple as to seem utterly ridiculous.

Without hesitating a moment, Jimmy closed the distance between himself and Thomas. Taking hold of Thomas’s head between his hands, directing his face upwards and towards the light, Jimmy kissed him.

Jimmy felt Thomas’s unsteady breath against his lips as he responded, bringing his palms up to cup Jimmy’s face, fingertips buried in his hairline as he responded with a vigour that had Jimmy taking several steps backwards, followed closely by Thomas; distracted by his attempts to mimic the confident hunger of Thomas’s mouth, despairing of his own inexperience and clumsiness.

Neither wanted to take time to breath, but as the room started spinning they were compelled to break apart, foreheads together, eyes closed, panting hot breaths against one another’s cheeks.

Dizzy on the scent of Thomas, as much as the lack of air, Jimmy’s fingers took several attempts to slip open Thomas’s first shirt button; only to find his progress on to the second button halted by Thomas taking a firm grip of his wrists.

‘Please.’ Said Jimmy, glancing from Thomas’s eyes down to his buttons. ‘Please, Thomas. I want to…I want you.’

A slight tremor at Thomas’s pupils suggested that something deep inside him had melted at Jimmy’s words, but his hold on Jimmy’s hands remained resolute.

‘Just…just to be _absolutely_ clear…’ Thomas stuttered out through ragged breaths. ‘…what _exactly_ are you consenting to?’

‘Everything.’ Jimmy whispered.

‘Yes, but does that mean…?’ Thomas began before being silenced by a soft kiss; worlds apart from the frantic grappling of a moment earlier.

‘Please just let me undress you.’ Jimmy pleaded softly, slipping his wrists from Thomas’s grip and getting back to work on his shirt buttons.

‘Jimmy…’ Thomas’s hands came to rest over Jimmy’s, calming their shaking. ‘…are you sure Jimmy? Wouldn’t it be better to wait until you’ve had time to think about…?’

‘I swear to God, Thomas, if you don’t help me get this shirt off you, I’ll rip it in half.’ Said Jimmy gruffly.

Thomas released Jimmy’s hands; which soon made swift work of his shirt and moved on to his trousers.

Thomas didn’t protest.

‘Are you going to touch me?’ Said Jimmy, looking up at Thomas a little bashfully as he parted the fabric at the front of Thomas’s trousers to reveal the soft cotton of his underwear.

Thomas gave a small gasp, as though the idea of taking it upon himself to caress the naked skin of the man in front of him genuinely hadn’t occurred to him. In all honesty, the possibility of doing so _hadn’t_ occurred to him.

He raised an experimental hand to lightly brush over Jimmy’s shoulder, down his shoulder-blade, finding the smooth line of his spine. Jimmy arched his belly forwards, concaving his back to encourage Thomas to continue along the inside of the curve and beyond.

Tracing the tip of a single finger down the curve of Jimmy’s buttocks met with approval rather than resistance, emboldening Thomas to begin to more fully explore, with both hands.

Thomas broke away for a moment to fully shed his remaining clothes, bending down for a moment to release himself from his underwear and trousers.

Jimmy watched, breath momentarily stolen from him at the sight of Thomas exposed. A hesitation and nervousness at the suddenly very real prospect presented by Thomas’s erect penis coursing through his body. But the tender and gentle kisses that Thomas bestowed as he maneuverer them both back towards the bed had him easily parting his legs to allow Thomas to lay between them.

He gasped as Thomas settled his weight over him, feeling the burning heat between their bodies as Thomas rolled his hips to slide against him.

His eyes followed Thomas’s hand as he reached out to fumble for something on the nightstand, his fingers returning slicked with a substance that made them shine in the sunlight.

Planting his other hand down above Jimmy’s shoulder to steady himself, Thomas moved back to enable him to reach down between Jimmy’s legs.

Jimmy let out a small sound of surprise at the sensation as Thomas’s finger pressed into him.

Thomas answered with a reassuringly lingering kiss before looking down, moving his finger slowly out again, pressing back inside before fully released, stroking him from within.

‘Do you…’ Jimmy’s face grew hot as he watched Thomas’s rapt attentiveness to the task. ‘…do you have to watch?’ He said uncomfortably.

Thomas immediately looked up at him. ‘Can I?’ He said.

Despite his embarrassment, Jimmy found himself nodding enthusiastically in response.

Thomas smiled warmly at him, this time electing to watch Jimmy’s face as he added a second finger; catching ever quiver of muscle, every pulse, every breath as Jimmy opened up to the sensation.

When satisfied Jimmy was sufficiently prepared, Thomas drew back again, sitting on his heels as he took hold of Jimmy’s hips to pull him further down the bed.

‘Should I turn over?’ Said Jimmy tentatively, looking at Thomas looking him in wide eyed wonder.

Thomas shook his head, pulling Jimmy’s hips up to lie over his bent knees, leaning forwards for another kiss, raw and hungry, before lining himself up to enter him.

Jimmy arched against the bed, burying the back of his head down into the pillow at the unfamiliar and painful intrusion as Thomas pushed inside. But he begged Thomas to proceed rather than to wait, finding the feel of him partially in him to be at the same time too much yet not nearly enough.

Thomas complied, raising one of Jimmy’s legs up high against his chest to gain as much access to him as their physical reality would allow. And Jimmy let him, shame swept away in the heat of the moment into an ardent desire to give everything he could.

At first rocking, and then slamming together, everything else faded in a haze of heat, sweat and firmness that filled every sense to the point of overflow.

Jimmy, rendered for the most part immobile in the new sensations, still managed to find his agency enough to grab at Thomas’s hips as he went to withdraw (evidently to do Jimmy the courtesy of avoiding messy discomfort); compelling him to spill inside of him.

Head thrown back, neck straining, Thomas rode his orgasm to the point of exhaustion before collapsing down onto Jimmy. Somehow finding Jimmy’s lips in his disoriented state, Thomas endeavoured to probe his tongue into Jimmy’s mouth tasting and savouring until the very last vestiges of the coursing waves of pleasure abated.

The six o’clock wake-up call a half hour later found the two of them cocooned in Thomas’s blankets, arms wrapped stubbornly around one another, unwilling to relinquish contact even amid the peace of sleep.


End file.
